Camel vs Camel

It is high summer here in Yalikavak and, whilst the rest of the world is consumed with the Olympics in Bejing, we are up to our necks in high culture. During the summer months we have a feast of music and dance festivals that proves irresistible for those of us who enjoy classical music and ballet. A review of this summer's events can be the subject of a separate blog (perhaps when it all comes to a close at the end of August), but for now I want to give you an idea of how we fill our time when the music and the dancing stops.

Admittedly, we do sometimes find the cultural famine in the winter a bit of a trial. Still, we are not completely without entertainment. In this blog I want to share with you an activity which you won't as yet find on the list of Olympic sports - camel wrestling.

In January of this year, on a crisp Sunday afternoon my friend Susan and I went to a local camel wrestling tournament. Much to everyone's surprise we won ....by two falls and a submission. . Ok, you guessed, in fact it was the camels wrestling each other!

Lest you are conjuring up images from Lawrence of Arabia in your minds - svelte pale beige camels trekking tirelessly over rolling sand dunes with magnificent music soaring in the background - forget it. Sadly stereotypes die hard - including the one that suggests all Turks wear fezzes and ride camels, for example. No-one has worn a fez in Turkey since the 1930s when they were banned, and camels do not play any part in anyone's daily life. Well, in truth, there is that one mangy old beast that lurks outside Bodrum castle as a photo op for tourists but generally that's it.

So, given the relative scarcity of camels, it was rather startling to find upwards of 60 camels being paraded around the village on a market day back in January this year. Bringing traffic to a halt, the colourfully caparisoned camels were accompanied by their minders, equally brightly dressed in traditional costume, with small groups of musicians competing with the lorry-borne loudspeakers to bring the message that there would be a camel wrestling tournament on the coming Sunday in Kudur.

The event took place in a valley near the beach surrounded by hills, in a natural amphitheatre. Given the venue and the state of the tracks leading to it, we might have been better to grab a passing camel for a lift, except that they arrived in style on the back of open lorries, carefully secured to prevent any bruised shins. We, on the other hand, walked most of the way, but we were picked up by one of Susan's friends in her 4x4 - she was giving it a rare off road experience. It would have been quicker to walk the rest of the way, such was the crowd. We were stopped and charged £4 a piece to get in. I was not too impressed by their accounting since the tickets (no stubs) were taken off us again 20 yards down the road and ferried back to those doing the selling, for resale.

The scene was like something out of medieval times, very Eastern, loads of atmosphere, smoking camp fires, families in folk costumes, exotic music and flocks (the collective noun for a group of camels is 'flock', apparently) of camels in paddocks adjacent to the central wrestling area.

Surrounding the central makeshift arena, family groups had colonised the hillsides, fires were lit and picnics set out. The air was rich with the smell of seared meat and camels. The lorries that had brought the camels doubled as mobile grand stands, lined up around the arena, where the camel owners entertained their guests with endless quantities of raki, the local aniseed spirit, beer and, in one instance I noted, a large bottle of Chivas Regal. As the raki worked its magic, the occupants of the "grand stands" occasionally felt moved to dance in groups, accompanied by drums (davul) and a rasping oboe-like reed instrument called a zurna. It’s an all male dance, but in other respects not too far removed from Essex girls dancing round their white handbags. When not dancing, camel form was discussed heatedly and bets placed on the outcome.

When we arrived, the wrestling had begun. The two combatants are first paraded round the arena, elaborately saddled and wearing layers of heavily embroidered blankets, often enriched with beads and bits of glitter. On the back of the hump in big embroidered letters are details of the camel and its owner. The camels are eventually allowed to approach each other diagonally across the arena, to give each the chance to psyche out the other, rather like heavy weight boxers do at the weigh-in.

After a few minutes of this ritual, the minders relax their grip on the retaining ropes and the two camels lock necks, each attempting to force the other’s head (and sometimes body) to the ground. It’s sort of arm wrestling but with necks. It gives a whole new meaning to the term "necking" - a term which, in any case, probably means nothing to anyone under 50.

It tends to get messy, with great chains of frothy saliva flying all over the place. Some say that the camels (usually bulls) have been urged to fight by the presence of a cow camel and that this gives rise to the salivating. It may be a big turn on for camels but it is hard to imagine the minders are all that delighted because they are covered in the stuff. Camel minding clearly is not for the faint hearted. As with wrestling between two-legged contestants, much of the wrestling is show and bravado rather than substance, since it is vitally important that these valuable animals don’t actually hurt each other.

All the while, there is an ear splitting commentary on the progress of the match, a commentary makes the commentaries on the last 100 yards of the Grand National sound measured, stately and quiet. I listened for all I was worth, but could not make out a word of it.

Occasionally the camels get a bit too close to the spectators, in which case the minders grab hold of ropes attached to the animals and haul them back to the centre. The only thing between contestants and a one ton camel is a bit of hazard tape, so clearly crowd safety is literally in the hands of these minders. In case you are wondering, it takes about 9 big men to haul a camel away when it is mid wrestle. We never ventured that close to the tape, but I was amused to note that the crowds often did not budge when these two monsters were just a couple of yards away. “I’ve got me space, and I’m not giving it up for no-one” seemed to be the attitude. Being wimps , we didn’t even get within saliva flinging distance.

After three minutes of this necking, a whistle blows and, if neither has caused the other to submit, there is some arcane system of points scoring that goes on, the two animals are pulled apart and then the next two combatants (that have been warming up by parading round the outside of the ring) join battle.

Sometimes, despite all the winding up that goes on by the minders, the camels decide they don’t want to wrestle. They just stand opposite each other, bored, looking off into the distance under their long eyelashes, ignoring each other. “ ‘e’s my best mate, I don’t want to fight him, so there!” Owners urge them on, slapping them around the face with the reins but, as the old adage goes, you can lead a camel to the arena, but you can’t make it wrestle. After three minutes, the whistle blows and the owners get into a scrap about which animal is to blame for the non-fight. Still,at least that gives the crowd something to cheer about.

I should mention that, whereas at such outdoor sports in England, you might get hot dog stands, here they sell camel sausages. Yes, that's right, sausages made from camel meat. At first I thought this was a bit insensitive but then I got the idea. Part of the incentive for the camels to fight is the thought – all too closely reinforced – of what might befall them if they don’t fight. All the slapping round the face is to get them to look in the direction of the hot camel sausage stalls. "Fight… or else. Get my drift?"

We never did find out which camel came out with the gold medal - or indeed which one was destined to be a sausage - but it didn't really seem to matter. It was a great chance to catch up with old friends, swap views on camel form, and to wear the orange headdress, which is absolutely de rigueur for serious camel fanciers. As we trudged back to the village, we were obliged to give way to lorries carrying the heroes of the hour, gazing down imperiously from the backs of lorries, heading for their next tournament.